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Dead Frontier/Issue 142
This is #142 of Dead Frontier, titled Ruin. This is the fourth issue in Volume 24. Ruin "We had, like, this really, really huge backyard," Elliott explains. He's huddled inside one of the trucks, Lucy listening intently next to him. Even without adequate room, he gesticulates excitedly. Somehow, the topic of his childhood came up, and he can't stop rambling, as much as he knows he should. "And then we had this big section of woods right behind it. And the deer--the fuckin' deer would never leave us alone. We tried firing off shots to scare them off, but nope. Didn't work. So this one deer, one day--” He pauses, glances at her, and laughs at himself, letting his hands fall into his lap. “I’m talking too much. Y-you don’t care--sorry.” “C’mon--you can’t start a story and not finish it,” she says. “You really wanna know what happened to the deer?” “I wanna know what happened to the deer.” “Okay," he says, and he takes a breath. "One of them got too close to the house one day--and my dad let me shoot it." She raises her eyebrows, and he nods. "Might've been my...fourth or fifth time even firing a gun. But I got him. Then we ate him for dinner." She crinkles up her nose, eliciting a laugh from him. "You've never had venison?" "Venison?" "Yeah." "It's not called 'deer meat'?" "I'm gonna take that as a 'no,' then." "I'm from the city--sorry." "Well, then, maybe we'll stop by some woods. I haven't been hunting in forever, anyway. Never too late to try some...'deer meat.'" Before she can scold him for teasing, the truck comes to an abrupt stop. He rises to his feet and presses a palm against the steel of the vehicle’s interior walls to keep his balance. "Break time," he says to her before looking up and addressing the rest of the truck. "Listen up! Looks like we're gonna be taking a break. Use the bathroom, stretch your legs--whatever." He steps over some people to reach the door. He opens it, shrouding the inhabitants with the first bits of natural light they’ve seen in hours. A few moments after hopping down onto the asphalt, Harlow has reached him, stopping him by placing an urgent hand on his shoulder. It doesn’t take long for him to scan her face and realize something’s not right. “The engine’s busted on one of the trucks,” she says. She doesn’t bother hiding the exasperation in her voice, as if this unfortunate turn of events is just an absolute burden on her life. “Is it bad?” Elliott asks. “I’ve got some people checking it out now but...I don’t know.” She lets her arm drop, placing her hands on her hips instead. "This is the last fucking thing we need right now." "Aw, c'mon. It's just an engine. We fix it--we're driving again." His smile comes naturally. "Might as well make the most of it. Search around these shops while we've got the time." They both survey the immediate area; the street is lined with stores, most boarded up and dusty, but others that are actually in decent shape. "Maybe," she says. "I'll see how long this is gonna take." She walks off with a reciprocated smile and a friendly nod, and he turns, watching everyone file put of the truck in a surprisingly orderly fashion. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Official estimates say about an hour until they're back on the road again. The area they've stopped in isn't very exciting, but it's an hour out of that cramped, uncomfortable space, an hour of free time, an hour to roam. Lienne's eyes lock on one specific shop almost immediately after she exits her truck. It's a place that's become almost foreign, but the sight of it brings back a surge of pleasant emotions. She steps over to the storefront and places her palms against the window. Looking past the dust-covered glass, she sees a display of guitars set up. She can't remember the last time she held one, let alone saw one. Unlike the other places around her, this shop doesn't look ransacked at all--in fact, the interior looks completely intact. Not surprising; guitars aren't really the apocalypse's number one commodity. She senses someone walking up next to her, but she ignores their presence for the time being, still somewhat caught in her trance. “I r-remember you playing once, back at the h-hotel,” she hears Jake say. She’s snapped out of her daze and turns her eyes toward him, honestly surprised he’d be the one talking to her. He hadn’t talked to her on the way here--she’d assumed he was annoyed, so she let him be, and he left her alone. “You were really good.” She takes a few seconds to respond. “Thanks,” she says. A silence befalls them. It’s prolonged and uncomfortable. Jake breaks it by clearing his throat before speaking. “So…” he says. “You g-gonna get one?” He nods his head toward the guitars. “No. Not worth it.” For one, she doesn’t know what could be in there. And the door’s been boarded up with a sturdy cover of wood and nails. There’s no getting in there without a struggle. “It’s...nice to see at least.” She lets her palms slide away from the glass until her hands rest at her sides again. He can’t help but notice how disappointed she looks, and he frowns. Situations like this aren’t his forte. With a sigh, he turns, leaving her alone. She’d probably prefer it that way. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Adam roams along in one of the stores, just to waste time. Daniel and Dean are a little ways away, looking through some of the shelves, and a group of soldiers lingers behind them, rifles slung across their shoulders. One of the soldiers catches Adam’s eye--he’s very fidgety, looking over his shoulder often. Adam ignores him for a while until he stops by a display of snowglobes, shaking a few and watching the contents mix about, and the soldier wanders toward him. His uniform states his name is “Black.” As Elliott gets closer, Adam can’t help but ask, “Are you okay, man?” Elliott looks startled, realizes quickly that Adam’s speaking to him. “Me? Y-yeah, fine,” Elliott says. His statement is unconvincing, and he clears his throat. Adam's about ready to walk away when Elliott beckons him once more. "Adam, right?" Adam furrows his eyebrows. "...Yeah," he says warily. "Didn't mean to creep you out--sorry. Your friend told me. Lucy." "Oh. Yeah, Adam Dugall." There's a quick pause. "Is she...is she nice? Lucy, I mean. I only talked to her a couple times so I--I don't know her all that well, but--" "She's not looking for a date right now, man, I can tell you that much." Adam picks up one of the snowglobes, inspects it with disinterest for just a second, and sets it back down. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to ask--" "Leave it alone. She's having a tough time." Adam's voice is authoritative enough that Elliott is reduced to speechlessness. But something seems to have clicked in Elliott's brain. He nods, turns his head down. "Yeah...you--you have a good day, man." Adam watches as he walks off, as confused as he was at the beginning of their interaction. Daniel watches the quick scene unfold. When Elliott's out of view, he walks over. "What was that about?" "I dunno. Weird guy," Adam says. "He trying to hit on you? What's the deal?" "No, man," Adam says with a laugh. "Complete oppsite. He's into Lucy and I told him to back off." Daniel suddenly becomes interested in the array of snowglobes. "Not your choice, really. Don't you think so?" Adam sighs and scratches his cheek. "She's...she's tricking herself into thinking she's okay. She's not. She can't do it herself, so I'm just trying to look out for her. That's it." Just as with Elliott, Daniel plunges into a brief period of silence. "I'll talk to you later," Adam says before Daniel can respond, and he turns the other way. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Adam finds Lucy in the same store, wandering around alone. He assumes she's by herself because of her own preference. Still, he speeds up just a little to match her pace. A bit of company shouldn't be bad either. "So, I heard you've got an admirer," he says in place of a greeting. She looks confused at first, but her realization is indicted with a roll of her eyes. "I guess you met him," she says. "Yeah...interesting guy." "He's nice, but..." She looks at him quickly, then turns her eyes forward again. It really is amazing how one brief glance can convey so much. He feels a sudden rush of guilt. Ever since their first day in Denver, he's left her alone, left her to her own thoughts--that's what he believes he would have wanted if he was her situation. He's been so worried about himself that he's barely come to her directly. "If you ever wanna talk..." he begins, then trails off. "I've been through...the same thing. I know what it's like. So if you need anything--" He cuts himself off. They've stopped in the middle of the aisle, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. "How did you do it?" she asks, her tone on the verge of pleading. He assumes she's talking about moving past the death of his girlfriend, but she continues. "I've tried denying it, I've tried accepting it, I've tried crying about it--but I feel so fucking empty. And then I think about him, everyday, and it's like I'm reliving it again. Everyday. And I don't think I can do it anymore." Her voice drips with guilt, drowning him in the same sorrows. Her eyes, though, speak what she can't say herself. He's surprised by the sheer amount of anger contained in them, although it's clear that none of it is directed toward him. She's as alone as ever. She's lost; she needs some kind guidance, and he's the only one who can give it. "Don't think about what could've happened or--or what you should've done," he says. "That's not gonna help you--it's gonna make it...ten times worse." She realizes the truth in this, but it only seems natural. "I know he was special to you. So think about that--think about why. Because trying to forget about him completely is gonna ruin you. And I--I don't wanna see that." She takes a deep breath, nods. As difficult as it is, another fit of crying isn't acceptable--not to her. He lets his gaze linger on her for a few seconds, her valiance never failing to impress him. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Hunter searches through a shelf, throwing various useless items over his shoulder. Empty cans, stale boxes of cereal, molded pastries--they all smash against the floor behind him. He hears footsteps approaching his aisle just as he picks up an open can. A colony of roaches infest the container, and he cringes at the sight. Dean appears to be the source of the footsteps, for he turns the corner a few seconds later. When he sees Hunter, he's ready to ignore him and move on, but Hunter beckons him. "Want some of this, mate?" Hunter says cheerfully. He tosses the can, and Dean catches it easily. Before Dean can even look inside, the roaches begin to pour out onto his hands. He yells, drops the can, and swipes at his clothes frantically. The bugs scurry away as Hunter howls with laughter. When he's sure none of the roaches are still latched onto him, Dean groans. "Christ...what the hell's wrong with you?" "Just a--just a little practical joke," Hunter says through bursts of chuckling. "Oh, c'mon. That was funny." "It wasn't." "Scared of a few bugs, are you?" "Those things carry diseases and shit--I don't want them touching me." Hunter's smile subsides somewhat, his expression turning into one of disappointment. "Aw, come on, gonna slap me like your imaginary girlfriend did?" He even juts his chin out, taps his cheek with his forefinger. "She hits harder than you, I'm sure." As much as the remark makes Dean flood with anger, visibly and internally, he upholds his composure. "What are you trying to do?" he asks. Hunter stands up straight again. "Nothing, really. Fucking with you. It's fun, you should try it." "Maybe I'll--" he begins, but he's cut off by a disturbed yell from the front-end of the store. "What'd he say?" His annoyance with Hunter seems to be forgotten for now. They both listen intently until a single word reaches them. "Herd!" Dean's face falls. He rushes past Hunter and traverses the seemingly never-ending aisles until he finds the storefront. People are already filing into the trucks, screaming, worrying about no one but themselves. A few seconds later, Hunter runs up from behind him, gawking at the same sight. "They're all full!" Dean shouts, gesturing, toward the trucks. Hunter scoffs. "Like fuck they are," he says and he exits out the defunct automatic doors. Soldiers usher people inside the backs of vehicles, but space is filling up fast. What's worse is the amount of disorder. But Hunter disregards this issue for now and jogs toward the nearest truck. When he sees the herd, he's pressured to stop, but he doesn't--still, it's a sizeable group, too close for his comfort. A few screams catch his attention, the inhuman sound setting them apart from the rest of the shouts around him. Some of those odd, running infected are part of the pack as well--he focuses on them for a second, a drastic mistake, because a few others spriting toward the truck accidentally ram into him. In his inattentive state, he falls over easily, scraping his palms on the cement. When he looks up, he sees the truck that he'd planned to flee to is full, and the doors close right in his face. "Hey!" he yells, rising to his feet. He runs over and bangs his fists against the hard metal of the door. But the engine has started and it speeds away, making a sloppy U-turn and barreling in the direction opposite of the infected. He's completely baffled. He could just run, but for how long? Some soldiers have started firing into the herd, but there's no way they'll make a substantial dent in the number of infected. And he can't flee alone. Two more trucks speed away, filled to brim, leaving one more truck that's nearly full as well and the one with the busted engine left sitting in the street. Before he turns back into the store, he sees a young soldier tackled by a howling infected. He has no chance. "Let's go!" Hunter says when he's back in the store. He grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him along. "Do you know where anyone else is?" "Uh, I--I saw Adam a little while ago--he was with Daniel," Dean spews out quickly. Almost instantly, they turn into another aisle and are met with the equally frantic faces of Adam and Lucy. "What the hell is going on?" Adam asks, all four of them coming to a stop. "Herd's coming this way," Hunter explains. "All the trucks are full, and they fucking left us." "All of them?" "Besides the one with the fucked up engine. Everyone else's are trying to fight it off." Glass breaks somewhere near the front of the store, intermixed with wretched, inhuman screeches. "Gotta be an exit somewhere." He breaks into a run, prompting them to follow. He takes just a second to stop and pick up a jagged and rusted pipe, one of the many pieces of wreckage scattered throughout the store. ___________________________________________________________________________________ Daniel has since fled the store, but minutes after doing so the news of the unexpected herd spread quickly. Before retreating to the trucks like everyone else, he searches for any familiar faces, shouting out names. "Ivy!...Tora! Lienne--!" He stops when someone pulls at his arm. It's Jake, his face sweating and his stutter overtaking his speech. He's saying something to Daniel, but Jake is so frightened that Daniel can't decipher it. "Calm down--" "I d-don't know where they went!" "Okay. Okay," Daniel says levelly, placing his hands on Jake's shoulders. The remaining trucks have sped away, and Daniel sees Hunter evacuate into a nearby store. He's wasted too much time already, and the fastest members of the herd have already reached the soldiers, who attempt to fight them off. It's no use. "Stay with me--" "They're probably gone already!" "I know." He wants to say more, but there's no time. He grips Jake's forearm and drags him forward, sprinting away from the herd and into the nearest alleyway. ____________________________________________________________________________________ Adam has taken the lead, sprinting through the store with Lucy, Hunter, and Dean behind him. There’s not a very large amount of area of travel through, but the store is big enough--they don’t see an exit immediately, as they'd hoped to escape out the back of the building. The store has been breached quicker than they had anticipated, and with the infected converging on them at an astonishing rate--a mixed group of shambling, stumbling ones and the faster ones as well--their worries aren’t vanishing. No one, and nothing else, is in sight either--no soldiers or people or weapons. A pile of collapsed shelves stands in their way a few meters down the aisle. Although it shouldn’t be difficult, Adam knows they’ll have to find a way over it; so he turns his head to see how close the infected have gotten. What he sees doesn’t make him feel any better. Dean is lagging behind significantly, his fear and exhaustion manifesting itself into deep, labored breaths. The infected are too close for Adam’s comfort as well--in a split second decision, he slows down, leaving Lucy in the lead, and doubles back just enough to grab ahold of Dean’s arm and pull him forward. Lucy doesn’t even have time to process what’s happened before she instinctively turns her head. For a second, it appears as if Adam’s plan has worked. He has a firm grip on Dean’s arm, and he picks up his pace, leading Dean away from the pursuing infected. But then Dean’s foot catches on a considerably large piece of wood that he hadn’t seen, presumably a section of one of the many destroyed shelves in the store. Dean falls, and in the brief moment Adam takes to try and catch him, the infected have already increased their speed. Lucy watches as if time has slowed down. She can see Hunter out of her peripherals, just as petrified as she is. Adam realizes too late that there’s nothing he can do to help Dean, and as one infected leaps atop Dean’s collapsed form, another reaches for Adam. It falls, but manages to grab ahold of his pant leg and bring him to the ground as well. By this time, Hunter jumps into action. With his meager pipe, he whacks an approaching infected across the jaw, then another. Just then, Adam lets out a terrible scream as the infected’s jaws clamp down on his leg. Dean is in worse shape--with his entire jugular removed, his throat a bloodied mess, he can’t even yell out. As frightened as she is, Lucy realizes how idiotic it is for her to just stand there. She bolts out of her daze, grabs a piece of debris in the form of a jagged, rectangular piece of wood, and turns back around again, jabbing the end of her new weapon into the forehead of the first infected she sees. A large portion of the infected have gathered on top of Dean, tearing into him recklessly, giving Hunter enough time to pull Adam away from the chaos. The blood from his bitten leg painting the tile, Adam is dragged across the floor as Lucy gets rid of two more infected. "Go!" Hunter shouts at her. He's in a crouching position, fixing his arms under Adam as he lifts him. With some hesitance, Lucy follows his order--she rushes down the rest of the aisle and hops over the pile of wreckage. One final turn of her head and she sees Dean's convulsing body lost under the infected. Hunter clambers over the wreckage as well, struggling a bit more than her and nearly dropping Adam in the process. The infected continue their chase, but they're stymied by the abundance of debris. An exit isn't too far off--after a few more turns, a bulky set of double doors indicates the hopeful end of their escape. Category:Dead Frontier Category:Dead Frontier Issues Category:Issues